


I'm jealous of the way you're happy without me

by Eighth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Unrequited Love, VictUuri, Yuurio, yu2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9947417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eighth/pseuds/Eighth
Summary: World's most decorated Men's Figure Skating Champion, Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki declared dead at 33.





	

Tremors rock Yuri awake and he gathers his bearings around him. There's a shaking body curled against him and a cacophony of rattling breaths, gasps for air and sobs that now deafen him. Small whining too, presumably coming from the pile of brown fur at their feet. He instinctively wraps his arms around the smaller figure, as they have done many times before, trying to lull them back to their usual morning routine but a firm (shaking) hand pushes against his chest. 

Yuuri is now an arm's length away on their bed and he meets Yuri's eyes. The dark circles under those familiar caramel eyes are still there, same as they were those years ago, but there's something off about that look. Something makes Yuri's pulse race and a small realization seems to gnaw at the edge of his mind, something he's been trying to deny and ignore for a while now. Just a small suspicion that he could not bear to accept.

Yuuri's eyes look dead, lifeless, as if... he just wants to shake and be trapped in his thoughts until they come true. Yuri's chest tightens in pain, recalling all those conversations he's had with Yuuri while trying to help him through his panic attacks. They used to come almost every morning, but in the last year they had slowed. Yuri thought they were making progress, but now it looks like the less there were the more potent they became.

He tried not to think about how every morning after Victor's death, Yuuri had desperately wanted to follow behind. 

Without his love, his inspiration, idol, best friend, soulmate, his everything; Yuuri Katsuki could not go on. 

Every time they had tried to talk about Yuuri's anxiety and panic attacks with a therapist, this is what it always came back to. Yuuri simply could not find a reason to live in a world without Victor. And Yuri was here to witness that self-destruction.

He saw it in every day that Yuuri forgot to eat, every day that Yuuri didn't leave his home in those first weeks. Yuri had to take Makkachin with him to his apartment, and Yakov had tried to take care of Yuuri but the Japanese man was too gone for any help that could be provided. It was like he had lost his soul and his body only existed to decay away eventually.

In the end, Yuri ended up taking both Makkachin and Yuuri in. Being in the home that he and Victor had built and furnished together had proven to be destructive to Yuuri's health. They had only realized this after finding Yuuri in the bathtub, wrists slit and bleeding to death. 

Yuri had never, in his life, been overtaken by such fear as in the moment he found Yuuri. 

His family had all left him, his grandfather having passed in the years following his senior debut. For so long he had no one but Victor and Yuri and Otabek. They had become his world, they had rescued him from his own darkness and helped him overcome the greatest loss of his life. 

When Victor passed, Yuri lost his brother.

But, he had also lost his first love. 

What lay before him now was trapped somewhere between the past and present. There's no way that you could call the broken, trembling man before him "Yuuri Katsuki". The name doesn't fit and he is but a shadow of the man he was during his second Grand Prix Final. You'd never think he was the man that won gold at Pyeongchang, who was one of the only ones who could rival his lover on the ice. 

But then again, a Yuuri Katsuki that was not wholly and solely devoted to Victor Nikiforov was not Yuuri Katsuki at all. This all-encompassing love, this soul-shattering devotion now ate away at his sanity. It slowly encroached on all aspects of his life, preventing him from functioning at the most basic level. Yuuri Katsuki had died the moment that Victor Nikiforov died.

And Yuri didn't know how to handle it. Every day he put aside his own emotions, his own love for the man in front of him, to help him survive. He needed to survive. Yuri wasn't sure if it was a selfless love that he gave, if this is what any friend would do for another. He feared that he just selfishly kept Yuuri alive and as healthy as he could so he wouldn't have the face the fact that...

 _He has no one else._  
  
Yuuri starts digging his nails into his shoulders, arms crossed around his chest and knees tucked as close to his chin as he can get them. Tears flow down his face, to the pillows under him, and his teeth clatter from the force of his tremors. Once again, Yuri reaches forward, this time more resolute and awake, and embraces Yuuri tightly, putting pressure on his arms so his hands are unable to get the purchase to harm himself.

Kicks, screams, sobs. Yuuri is only ever able to find strength to do anything when he is being stopped from hurting himself. Yuri knows that the reason that the older man always wears long sleeves and rarely wears shorts above his knees are the infinite rows of deep, jarring scars on his flesh. Yuuri fights with great strength against Yuri's arms, manages to get his arms out from being crushed between them and starts flailing, clawing into Yuri's back and arm and chest and anything that he can.

Yuri just holds him, ignoring the stinging pain. The first violent bout is always the worst, and he knows this can't last long considering how much Yuuri has eaten in the past week. He just shifts his arms, holding Yuuri against his body with one hand on his lower back and cradles Yuri's head in his shoulder, wrapping the arm under their bodies around his head to stroke softly into Yuuri's hair.

He starts whispering in Yuuri's ears, asking him things like how many ears does Makkachin have, how many triplets does his friend Yuko have and how many toes do his feet have. Questions that can try to get Yuuri's mind away from the invasive thoughts judging him for surviving while Victor did not, thoughts that drove him to this frenzied need to harm himself.

Eventually, the sobs and erratic movements give way to heavy breathing and a limp Yuuri wrapped around him. Yuri reaches for the box of tissues on their bedside table and starts wiping away the tears and snot that mar Yuuri's face, who's expression is now twisted in agony. He locks eyes with the older man again and a small sob escapes Yuuri's throat. 

"I..." Rough, uneven and raw. Yuuri's voice is quiet, Yuri can barely hear it over Makkachin's breathing and slow licks at their feet, the dog having returned after being started by Yuuri’s fit. 

"It's okay, Yura." Yuri hushes him and tosses the tissues into the waste bin next to their bed. His heart, still heavy in his chest, beats unevenly now. Every time he looks into Yuuri's eyes, he's always afraid of what he'll see. Will today be as bad as yesterday, or will he see a flicker of the light that was once there? Will Yuuri ever be able to piece himself back together enough for Yuri to once again see the passion and life that he had fallen in love with?

The shaking starts again, Yuri is prepared this time. He scoots closer to Yuuri and shifts their positions so the older man's back is tucked against his chest. He rests his chin on top of his head and wraps his arms around Yuuri. He traces the fresh cuts on his arms, gauging if they should get them treated now rather than later, and then continues down to grab Yuri's wrists. 

His thumbs instinctively ghost over the biggest scars on each wrist: two vertical, thick lines mirroring each other. They throbbed under his touch, felt rough with memories and pain.

"Yura, how many fingers does this hand have?" He tries to sound calm, relaxed, soothing. It's taking everything in him to not join Yuuri's chorus of sobs as he slowly descends into another attack. He plants a kiss on the crown of Yuri's head when he gets a response, and continues this line of questioning. A rewarding kiss granted after every answer.

It helps get them through the morning, and it gets them through most mornings. Some days it's all that Yuri can do to keep Yuuri from truly harming himself. Other mornings the older man wakes up before him, makes breakfast and it hurts Yuri, tears him to pieces and shatters his heart when he can see Yuuri act so put together. Like they are making progress.

Everything has taken a toll on them, though. On both of them, really. Yuri had been in the middle of a rough patch with Otabek when Yuuri's first suicide attempt happened. The ensuing silence from Yuri while he struggled to learn how to live for two people was something that Otabek could not really accept. He understood that Yuri felt loyalty to Victor, and that he loved the other Yuuri but there were services out there to take care of people in that state of living. Otabek refused to let Yuri throw away his life and potential and career for someone like this - Yuri was in his prime, it was not a sacrifice worth making. Otabek had always been more logical than him, Yuri mused.

This then escalated to nightly fights with Otabek, culminating in him leaving Russia and Yuri behind. 

Yuri couldn't explain it to Otabek, couldn't confess the feelings he'd harbored and hidden away for Yuuri since his teenage years. He had never, ever dreamt of them being reciprocated so he had hidden them and treasured them and just... let himself feel them. It was too much to bear that part of his soul, that part of his motivation to keep Yuuri alive, and Otabek would not accept the death of one Yuri's career for the survival of the other. Yuri loved Otabek, truly and honestly did. But he could not leave Yuuri to die. 

Truly, Yuri couldn't say he regretted anything. The man under him breathed. He had good days and bad days. 

He lived. That's all that Yuri needs. That's all he can ask for.

Yuuri's breathing evens out, he shifts back to face the taller man behind him. His eyes are no longer wide in terror, like a deer caught in headlights, instead they're tired and heavy. His grimace is twisted into a sad grin and he cups Yuri's face in his hands. 

"Yurochka, I hurt you." A small whimper from Yuuri, his eyebrows knit together in pain. 

"Yuuri, you can’t hurt me." Yuri brings his hands to Yuuri's wrists and once again thumbs at the deep scars there. He hopes that the man in front of him understands his silence, accepts his unspoken allegiance, adoration, dedication and sincerity in his words. His grip tightens, his heart squeezes and he forces his selfish thoughts back. 

Yuuri just looks at him, with a sad look. Yuri always forgets that even if he is almost a foot taller than the other Yuuri, that the man in front of him is almost 30 and he's only 23. Every time those piercing brown eyes look into his own, as if searching through pieces and parts of his soul until he finds what he seeks, discarding the rest, he's reminded of his own naivety and youth.

Yuuri's thumb draws a lazy line across Yuri's bottom lip and it's everything that Yuri can do to not react. He just stiffens, afraid his body will betray him otherwise. Yuuri's beauty still shines through gaunt skin hanging from a thin body. Muscle still ripples underneath, but his eating habits have greatly diminished his strength and stamina, rendering all the extra fat from his body in an effort to stay nourished. Yuri had to take time off the ice, but on good days they still go for runs, and on days where Yuri is afraid to leave the other man alone they work out in the Livingroom. Yuri's trying to cling to shape as his body finishes filling out, in hopes of making a comeback one day, and the doctors tell him that exercise is important to keeping Yuuri healthy.

Yuuri's eyes falter, they look somewhere over Yuri's shoulder and then back to meet his gaze. "Is it okay if we visit Victor today?"

"Of course." 

They get off the bed in silence and Yuuri is able to take a shower alone. Yuri looks at the clock on his phone, makes a mental note to check on Yuuri in 10 minutes. Small habits like these have built themselves into Yuri's life, small things to ensure that Yuuri stays alive and doesn't have enough time alone to harm himself. Not that badly, anyways.

Yuri prepares them breakfast, he makes tamago gohan (an egg and rice dish that Yuuri loves) and sets the table. He doesn't have to check on Yuuri twice, the other man makes his way out of their bedroom dressed in a black long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair is still a bit wet, but the fact that he was able to do all of this after this morning's episode made Yuri's chest ache with happiness.

"Here, Yura, eat." He guides the older man towards the table, holds the chair out for him to sit and then hands him a pair of chopsticks. Typically eating Japanese food is comforting to Yuuri, and Yuri has had plenty of sleepless nights to practice and read up on recipes.

A smile touches Yuuri's eyes, forming a deeply grateful look that takes Yuri's breath away. Again, the tired lines and eyebags that aged Yuri by centuries beyond his 30s were still there, but a flicker of the inner sunlight came back and reminded Yuri of what once was. That there may still be hope. His eyes burn with the familiar feeling of tears brimming and he lets out a soft breath.

"Thank you." Slightly accented in Japanese, thick with emotion. Yuri wasn't sure what he was being thanked for, but it felt like it was everything and nothing at once. He could stay in this moment for the rest of his existence and he would be the happiest he had ever been.

They move through breakfast quickly, Yuri jumping in the shower and then rushing through getting clothed afterwards, simply putting his long, wet hair in a bun. 

The trip to the cemetery is a short one. It's one they both know like the backs of their eyelids, familiar but inevitably dark. The reality of it is always there; even if they forget about it for a few moments during the day, the darkness always flickers back. The dark reminder that Victor is no longer with them.

That they can't hear his boisterous voice calling their shared name. Can't hear him speak in five different languages in once sentence, can't share in the wild adventures the Russian man once took them on. They can't live in the easy silence that Victor Nikiforov had the ability to create. 

Victor’s two Yuris lived in the quietest, most empty world imaginable. 

But this is all he has. Yuri will never stop fighting for it. 

A long winding lawn is dotted with grave markers, familiar names popping out at Yuri, having seen them day after day for what seemed like a lifetime. Some days it felt like Victor had been with them only yesterday, others it felt like Victor was a part of a past lifetime, something that had never touched their sad, shared existence but instead was a distant memory of a time long gone.

The world with Victor Nikiforov was full of color, life and vibrancy.

Life without him was pain, deafening silence and hurt.

They arrive. Yuuri's legs give out under him and Makkachin curls up against the gravestone, almost as if the dog knew what was there. Who was below. The old dog lets out a small whine and Yuri puts a bouquet of blue roses next to his brown fur. 

Yuri fights back against the dull sensation between his eyes, trying his best to keep a calm and neutral expression on his face. Fights the emotion welling behind his nose and eyes and clogging his throat. He stands next to Yuuri's kneeling body with his own head bowed in a silent prayer.

"Victor, I love you. I always will." A single tear streaks down Yuuri's face. Yuri's throat is thick with emotions, he tries to swallow but his dry mouth provides no relief. 

This was the first time Yuuri's ever spoken at Victor's grave.

Every one of their countless trips had been silent or filled with Yuuri's sobs. Reverent or anguished. Yuri assumed that the other man had either only wanted to share silent conversations or his grief with his husband.

"Today I wanted to die, Victor." Yuuri looks up, "I know you must be disappointed. I'm sorry I can't be stronger. I-" His voice falters. "I am so afraid of forgetting you."

Yuri's tears start falling and he soon feels obscene for bearing witness to this. He should not be here, he needs to leave, he needs to give Yuuri and Victor space. He can't show his emotions at this time, not this late in to it. He can't risk Yuuri realizing the truth and no longer accepting his help out of-- _hatred? a misguided sense of guilt? Shame that the only reason Yuri might want him to live is a romantic one?_

He can't _do_ this to him. This is Yuuri's time to grieve and mourn Victor, Yuri can't take that attention or time away from him.

He turns to walk and feels a strong grip on his arm. Yuri twists around and finds Yuuri, half standing, desperately grabbing his wrist. He looks at their joined hands, unable to process anything past that physical contact. Yuri held the other man at night, took care of him and bathed him when needed, but Yuuri had never initiated a touch outside of needing to be comforted. Much less outside.

_In front of Victor._

"Don't." Yuuri chokes out, "I need you. Here." His voice is raw with emotion, his accent heavier than usual, but his hand on Yuri's wrist is steady. Strong. 

Yuri acquiesces to his request and turns back to face Victor's grave. His tears are still streaming down his face, but he bites his lip, draws blood to keep sobs from surfacing.

The Japanese man seems satisfied at that, turns back to Victor. He moves his hand down Yuri's wrist, winds his fingers through longer, paler ones.

At that moment, Yuri's world crashes.

"Victor, I love Yuri." 

A strong voice. Stronger than Yuri's heard come from the other man in the last two years. He can't tear his eyes from the words "Nikiforov-Katsuki" in front of him and his head pounds. Everything spins. He falls to his knees, Yuuri doesn't let go of his hand.

"But I won't forget you. I will love you, and remember you, and the world will remember you." A gasp, Yuuri's trying to stay composed. He's trying to not break down, and Yuri can feel a small tremor course through the hand holding his tightly. "You live forever in the love that Yuri shows me, and in the love I want to show Yuri."

A pause. Yuri's free hand has come to cover his face, he can't control the shaking of his body as he wails and sobs and screams his pain for Victor. The pain he's held back for two years. 

"I don't want to die anymore, Victor. I might still be weak, and I know you're waiting for me but... Do you think it's okay if I live a little longer, to live with Yuri?"

He gasps for air and hugs the older man's waist. His sobs wrack his body and he can't stop for the life of him why can't he stop. He just can't stop crying into Yuuri, even as he feels arms wrap around his head. "P-Please. Don't leave me." Desperate, agonizing pleas come out as growls through his sobs, he says what he’s been thinking for so long now.  
"Y-You're all I _have left_." 

"I know."


End file.
